


Feathered Mockery

by FcrestNymph



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Wings, F/F, Indrid makes himself sad by watching other people find their soulmate, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Wingfic, you fool, your soulmate is right in front of you indrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 15:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FcrestNymph/pseuds/FcrestNymph
Summary: Soulmates.That word meant so much to so many people. It meant happiness, comfort, security. It meant warm cuddles on the couch, a hand held in yours, soft kisses in the early morning.For Indrid Cold, it meant that he didn’t belong.[In a world where soulmates have wrist tattoos that match the colours of their soulmates wings.]





	Feathered Mockery

Soulmates.  
  
That word meant so much to so many people. It meant happiness, comfort, security. It meant warm cuddles on the couch, a hand held in yours, soft kisses in the early morning.   
  
For Indrid Cold, it meant that he didn’t belong. It meant that he had no other half, no partner to be whole with. While others had said ‘that’s okay! It just means you’re whole by yourself’, Indrid didn’t. Not having a soulmate, it meant _never_ being whole.

In this world, humans were born with featherless, scrawny wings on their back and a splash of colour, like a spilled inkwell, on their right forearm. If _their wings_ were red, their _soulmate’s wrist_ would be red. If their soulmate’s wings were blue, their own wrist would have a blue ink splotch. Some people had colour tattooed on both wrists, as sign of multiple soulmates.

It wasn’t something Indrid was used to.

  
Indrid could see futures stretching before him, he could pick at a thread and tug it, pull it towards him to examine it and find out what would make it come to pass. He could also trace the intertwined threads relating to certain subjects, though it was fuzzy and quite taxing to look too far ahead.   
  
But he could follow a specific subject if, for example, he wanted to bet on horse races.   
  
When he looked in his future for things, people, times and topics relating to soulmates, the well ran dry when it came to him. He could predict who other people would find as their soulmates (the blond girl in Amnesty lodge would find her soulmate in a sparky pyromaniac with brilliant red wings). He could predict when someone would find their soulmate (the cook at the lodge would find his soulmate within a few weeks).   
  
But when it came to his soulmate, to finding _his_ special someone, the only things he saw were flashes of static and empty whiteness.   
  
It was nauseating.   
  
But as time went on, Indrid tried to keep the thought of soulmates from his mind. He wore his usual long sleeves and never bunched them up by his elbows, even when doing dishes. He didn’t want to see the tattoo on his forearm. He would rather eat a dead rat than look at the splash of colour for even one second. He kept his wings tucked close to his back, hidden under baggy sweaters. He wished that he never got those horrid wings, those feathered appendages of mockery.   
  
When in his true form, his _Sylvan_ form, he had wings. Large, mousy brown, feathered and covered in soft down. He had wings in his disguise too. Long and as slender as he was, with sleek feathers that ended in a point. They were tricoloured; black where the wings connected to his back, with the majority of the colour being a soft white. The tips of the feathers were red, the same colour as his trademark glasses.   
They were pretty, but they were pointless.   
  
When the Sylvans crossed over to this world, they had all gained wings with their disguises, as well as a tattoo on their right forearm. Most Sylvans had been curious; Were these wings just for show? Or did they actually connect with a human in this world, with a _soulmate_ ?   
  
Indrid had been able to give them an answer. Yes, these soulmate marks, these wings and tattoos did in fact match everyone’s soulmate.   
  
Everyone...Except him.

  
  
_Clank_ . He set a half empty glass of eggnog onto the table of his winnebago. After he quickly wiped a stray drop of nog from his lips (if he didn’t, there would be 3 futures where someone would point it out and embarrass him), he took a moment to put on an expression of polite calm and then spun on his heel. He caught the door handle as he spun, opening the door in one swift movement.   
  
Someone had been reaching out to the doorknob, their hand only inches away before it had been yanked open.   
  
“Hello, and what can I do for you?” Indrid said.   
  
The man in front of the door opened his mouth, but Indrid shook his head and interrupted before a single word exited the man’s lips. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t see anything suspicious in the past hour or so. However, you might find a nail gun in the bushes off the 3rd trail marker up the Arpine trail.” He smiled, the expression somewhat lazy. “I do hope I’ve been of help. Goodnight.”   
  
He swung the door shut, but a hand shot out, stopping it just before closing.   
  
“Pard’n me, uh...”   
  
“Cold.”   
  
“Cold, I do have a few more questions, if that’s alright.”   
  
“Oh?”   
  
“Yeah, uh...” The man rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing around the exterior of the Winnebago. “You aren’t growing anything, are you?”   
  
Indrid blinked. “Hm?”   
  
“Now, I know it’s legal in some, uh, some states an’ all that, but not here. An’ maybe you’re new here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya, but that’s the law.”   
  
Indrid stared. His look of polite dismissal dropped, his brows twitching to knit together. “What are you saying?”   
  
“Marijuana, sir. Are you growing it?”   
  
“Why would _I_ grow marijuana?”   
  
“Hell if I know, people do some weird things. Personally I don’t see the...the uh, the appeal, um—I’ve never like, I’ve never dipped my toes in or—I mean I have—I mean,” His face twisted and he spat out a sharp “ _Fuck_ !” The man took his hand off of the door, but Indrid didn’t shut it. “Alright, uh, listen. You have a heat circle and I’m obligated to—I’m a ranger, y’see. Forest ranger, badge owning professional. An’ I’m obligated to keep things legal, so I’m just sayin’.”   
  
“Heat circle?” Indrid was confused, hisfore sight was flickering and going fuzzy, as if it couldn’t wrap itself around this man.   
  
The ranger nodded and pursed his lips. “You wanna take a look outside, Mr. Cold?”   
  
Indrid hesitated but obeyed, opening the door just enough to peer outside. There was snow covering the ground, but all of the snow within two feet of the Winnebago was melted.   
  
The ranger made a face and ducked his head, squinting against the slap of hot air that hit him as the door opened. “That’s usually a sign of a marijuana growery, y’see.”   
  
Indrid was silent for a long moment. “I’m not—“   
  
“I’m not sayin’ you are, I’m just statin’ the law.” He raised an eyebrow slightly, a frown on his lips. His wings were slightly raised, a show of authority.   
  
Indrid let out a stunned laugh. “No, come inside. I can assure you, I have no interest in marijuana—growing or using.” He stepped back and fully opened the door, which let out a blast of hot air.   
  
The ranger took a peek inside, his nose twitched as he sniffed.   
  
Sure enough, there were no drugs to be found. The table was covered in old eggnog glasses, the cupboards were ajar and revealing cereal boxes, but there weren’t any plants of any kind in the trailer.   
  
“Ah.” The ranger stepped back and nodded, now with a somewhat sheepish look on his face. His wings lowered, as if dropping their professional act. “Well, pard’n me, I just thought I’d make sure.” He reached up to tip his hat, and Indrid’s lips twitched upwards into a small smile. What an odd man, this ranger was. His smile faded as he attempted to search his future vision for information about this man. It was still fuzzy.   
  
He blinked as he realized that the man was waiting for a reply. “Ah—That’s perfectly alright, I respect your instincts. It’s a sign of a good ranger to follow them, after all.”   
  
The ranger laughed just a bit, shaking his head. His cheeks were tinted pink. “I suppose I can’t be right every time. Thanks for the help with the,” He waved a hand vaguely. “The information about the nail gun and all that. I’ll check the trail out. How did you, uh...How did you know what I was gonna ask?”   
  
“Barker, from a few streets over, he mentioned that you were making the rounds.” A blatant lie.   
  
“Oh, alright. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks, Mr. Cold.”   
  
“And thanks to you, Mr...”   
  
“Newton. Duck Newton.”   
  
“Duck?”   
  
“It’s a—“   
  
“A nickname, yes.” With that unusual interaction finished, Indrid was regaining his seer abilities. “Goodnight, Duck Newton.”   
  
The ranger nodded and smiled, he tipped his hat once more and stepped back. Indrid shut the door. What an odd man. He smiled to himself and grabbed a glass of eggnog from the table, one that was still slightly chilled. (His future sight had many upsides, and one of those upsides was that he rarely drank old eggnog by accident). He raised it to his lips and took a swig, then glanced out the window of his Winnebago.   
  
He choked, spluttered, spat the egg nog down his front. “ _What—_ “ He spat up a mouthful of nog, his face flushing with effort. “He—“ Another fit of coughing.   
  
Indrid wasted no time. He threw the glass down on the table--it tipped over, he didn’t care-- and ran to the door.

He slammed it open with a loud _‘BANG’_ !   
  
_“Duck Newton!_ ” Indrid all but shrieked.

The man froze, then turned, looking confused. “...Yes?”

  
  
Indrid’s throat felt dry, despite the egg nog still clinging to it. He could feel the rapidly cooling liquid dripping down his shirt, he felt the hot air rushing past him as it escaped his trailer.   
  
The man’s wings, Newton’s, they—   
  
Indrid swallowed past what felt like a rock in his throat. “Duck Newton—“   
  
“...Yes?”   
  
They matched the tattoo on his wrist.   
  
~~~

 

“Hey Barclay? Can I get another tea?”

“Peppermint?”

“As always.” Dani smiled at the cook, her eyes almost half lidded from relaxation. She leaned on the bar-style counter that connected the Amnesty lodge’s kitchen to the main seating area. “Have you gotten that order of fancy leaves yet?”

“Nope, I’ll check the tracking number though. It was in Toronto on Monday.” Barclay accepted the mug that Dani handed to him, and he went about preparing her drink. Drop the tea leaves in the steeper, carefully add the water, let it sit, and strain it into the mug. Two sugar, no milk. Only half stir it, leave a few sugar granules in the bottom to make the last sip sweeter.

He didn’t have to think as he went through the motions, he had done it countless times, always remembering the orders and preferences of each Amnesty lodge resident.

Dani splayed her palms on the counter and stretched over it, reaching across the polished wood until her back arched in a comfortable stretch. Her wings spread behind her, the muscles tensing and trembling for a brief second as she stretched them to their limit. Beautiful creamsicle wings, creamy white with a streak of orange down each wing. She loved them, she had always had an inclination to soft things.  
  
Barclay glanced over his shoulder as he prepared the tea, so Dani could just barely see the movement of his lips as he began to speak. “You doing anything today, Dani?”

“Nope.” She said, her wings tucking close to her back as she finished up her stretch. “I might go out with Jake to find some flowers to sketch, but nothing is set in stone or, like, for sure planned yet. Why?”

Barclay laughed and turned back to the tea. “Can’t I take an interest in your day?” He tapped the tea strainer, getting the last few drops of liquid before he set it down in the sink. He mixed in the sugar and turned, holding the mug to its owner.

 

Dani accepted it with a grateful nod. “You’re too young to be living vicariously through teenagers, Barclay.” She said playfully.

Barclay cocked an eyebrow, a smile quirking at his lips. “Thanks for the backhanded compliment, but you aren’t a teen, sweetheart.”

Dani stuck out her tongue. “I don’t pay taxes. If I’m not a teen, then I’m a tax evading criminal.”

“I promise I won’t snitch.” Barclay said. His wings, strong and powerful, stayed tucked close to his back to avoid any unfortunate accidents. When he had first arrived in this world, when he had first gotten those chocolate brown, feathery appendages, he was constantly knocking things over with his overly large wings. Now, he just kept them tucked close. (One painful kitchen related wing injury was more than enough, thank you very much). “Though I’m jealous, tax reports are just _so exhausting_ to fill out, I don’t know how I handle it.”

“You don’t pay taxes either, Barclay.” Dani said flatly.

“Don't I?” Barclay pondered it over. “Huh, guess I don’t.”

Dani scoffed and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the counter. She crumpled it, and then launched it at Barclay’s head. It hit him with a satisfying ‘fwump’.

“Unfair! I wasn’t ready!”

“Be ready _now_!” Dani exclaimed, chucking another balled napkin at him. He swatted it out of the air and let out a ‘Whoop!’ of victory, his wings fluffing out in his excitement.

Dani flopped on the counter, sticking her tongue out in defeat. “Buttface.”

“Dingleberry.”

“Loser.”

“Shortie.”

“I’m almost six feet tall! I’m not _short_!” Dani spluttered.

“ _Sure_ you are, darling.”

“I am!”

“Well I’m taller, so you’re a shortie.”

Dani blew a raspberry, squeezing her eyes tight to make it extra powerful.

“Mature.” Barclay said, rolling his eyes despite the smile on his face.

“At least I’m not old. Is that a grey hair?” She knelt on the bar stool and let out a mock gasp. She locked her arms straight and leaned as far as she could over the bar counter. She reached up with one hand, grabbing at Barclay’s hair. She could only reach his shoulder, though. “It _is_!”

Barclay laughed and swatted her away. “Your hair is closer to grey than mine!”

“My hair is _blond_ , Barcl-- _AAAH_!” Barclay had ducked down and swiped Dani’s arm out from under her, which made her fall face first over the counter.

She was only a foot from crashing into the ground when Barclay snatched her from the air and spun her right side up, placing her on her feet behind the counter.

Dani’s eyes were wide, her hair half curtaining her face from where it had messily fallen back down. “ _BARCLAY_!!!!!!!” She shrieked, her tone promising retribution.

Barclay vaulted over the counter, easily placing the tall counter in between them. Then, with a quick glance to make sure no one was planning to order food at the moment, he bolted from the lobby.

“BARCLAY!! YOU GET BACK HERE!!” Dani shouted after him. She jumped over the counter, her wings flapping to give her some assistance, and then she ran after her tormenter. “I’M TELLING MAMA!”

~~~~

Duck rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit out of place. He had been inside the Amnesty lodge before, but not for business reasons. He took a step through the threshold and peeked around. It was a lovely little place. Polished wooden tables, a roaring hearth, cushy chairs as well as stiff backed ones, a few bean bags near the fireplace, it had everything! He didn’t see anyone at the bar counter, not that he would be able to order anything while on shift.

His wings flicked as he got more used to the warm interior of the lodge. A quick glance around made him spot a few people, so he walked up to the first one; a young boy with ski goggles on his face and a neon jacket hanging loosely off of his shoulders like a cape, his arms not through the sleeves. Duck couldn’t see his wings due to the jacket.

“Hey, uh,” Duck began. The boy didn’t respond. He looked to be focused on some sort of blank piece of paper, his fingers were running over the same spot over and over again. “Uh, kid?”

“Hm?” The boy tilted his head up to (presumably) meet Duck’s gaze--He couldn’t see through the reflective goggles.

“D’y’know if the owner is around?”

The boy cocked his head. “Nope.”

“Nope, y’ don’t know? Or nope, they aren’t around?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Well, okay.” Duck nodded stiffly, then took a step back. The boy looked back to his piece of paper. “Thanks, I guess?”

The boy nodded.

Duck let out a soft breath. Okay, next on the list, an older woman sitting alone at a table. He walked up and opened his mouth to speak, but then--

“ _BARCLAY_! YOU GET BACK HERE!”

He quickly turned, just in time to see a huge man jump down the nearby staircase, tumble on the floor, scurry to his feet and then jump over the bar counter where food was ordered. He was out of sight by the time a blond girl got to the bottom of the stairs as well.

“Barclay!” She yelled. Clasped in her hand was a can of...hairspray, perhaps? “Where did he go?!”

The boy with the ski jacket raised a hand and silently pointed to the bar counter without looking up.

The girl nodded and then stomped back up the stairs. She spun around and came back down, this time as quietly as she could. Duck watched as she tiptoed past the bar counter, through a swinging door into the kitchen, and then back out. Her hand, the one not holding the hairspray, was unnaturally white and seemed to be leaking powder--was that flour?--on the floor as she walked. She snuck up to the bar counter, slowly peeked over the edge, and then let out an inhuman screech.

The man jumped up from where he was crouched behind the counter, his wings puffing out defensively as he was suddenly assaulted with a constant spray of hairspray. He yelled, and then screamed when a fistful of flour exploded over him.

“I SURRENDER!” He shrieked. “I GIVE UP! MERCY!”

The girl let out a laugh and smacked his feathers, leaving a white hand print on the sticky surface. “Serves you _right_!”

The man straightened up, and Duck saw that he was furrowing his brow and _pouting_. His face, as well as his wings, were covered in flour. Duck laughed.

The man stiffened and looked towards the noise. When he noticed Duck, he spluttered and quickly started to wipe at the flour on his face. The hairspray had made it stick, so he only managed to make some of it clump up. “Ah! Hello! What can I help you with?” He said, flashing an awkward and somewhat guilty smile.

Duck put a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, then walked up. “D’you know where I can speak to th’ owner of this establishment?”

Dani stepped forward. “She’s in the back room, follow me.” She spun and, after setting the hairspray down on the counter, she marched down a nearby hall as if she had done nothing wrong in her entire life.

Duck nodded, a bit confused, and followed.

 

~~~

 

Indrid was stressed.

Oh, that was an understatement. That was like saying that freezing to death in a snowstorm was inconvenient, or that the lives of orphan triplets were usually unfortunate. A completely foolish understatement, not on the same page at all!

He met his soulmate.

Or, at the very least, he saw someone with wings that matched the tattoo on his inner wrist.

Maybe. Indrid’s glasses often tinted things completely wrong, so maybe he hadn’t picked up the subtle colours that would make those wings _not_ those of his soulmates. Maybe those wings were orange, and they had just _looked_ forest green? Maybe they were brown, or perhaps a purple? So many colours looked the same with his tinted glasses, even if he had gotten quite adept at telling them apart. Maybe that man wasn’t even close to Indrid’s soulmate.

Maybe.

After all, Indrid didn’t _have_ a soulmate. He knew who everyone else would end up with, but his soulmate never showed up in his visions. No cuddles on the couch, no kisses, no steamy nights in bed. Nothing. Just white static and fuzz.

But this man--This...This forest ranger, he had made Indrid’s head go blank. Not just from lack of words, but it had _literally_ gone blank. The visions vanished, his seer abilities went fuzzy and hard to grasp onto. He hadn’t been able to predict half of the man’s words. That was...unusual to say the least. He was a _seer_ , how could someone make him not _see_?

He spent hours going back and forth, thinking one thing, thinking another. Deciding to do something, then changing his mind.

He let out a sharp sigh and reached his mind out, grabbing tightly onto the first vision he saw. He had no other choices, no other way to decide, so he would do as his seer abilities told him.

He followed the future. He picked up the phone.

 

~~~

 

The phone rang on its hook, taking Duck Newton by surprise.

“Ah, one moment, Duck.” The phone was snatched from the hook.

“Oh, alright.” Duck nodded, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the wooden floor. He held his ranger hat in his hands, fiddling with the brim as he stood rather awkwardly in front of the desk that separated him and the owner of the lodge. He had come to ask questions for a small investigation he was doing; someone had decided to attack a handful of trees with a nailgun, and Duck would have none of that in his forest. People needed to respect their elders, and the old, strong trees were absolutely most people’s elders.

A few dozen nails wouldn’t be able to kill those trees, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Hello, Mama speaking.”

Duck adjusted the hat in his hands, politely trying not to listen in to the conversation.

“I haven’t heard from you in some time, Mr. Cold. What has--” Mama made a face of slight annoyance. “Let me finish, please. What has changed?”

“Oh?”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Oh hoh hoh, is that so? No, you don’t need to get embarrassed. Or _defensive_ , Mr. Cold. Well then, what colour is the mark?”

Duck glanced up at her, just in time to see _her_ look away from _him_.

“I have some ideas, but that isn’t an uncommon colour. Here, how about this. Come on in, I can take a look and see if I recognize that particular shade.” She smiled at Duck, who gave a nod in return. “Sooner would be preferred, I have errands to run.”

 

“I’ll see y--” She sighed. “Yes, yes, clever. Goodbye, Mr. Cold.” The phone was hung up with a click. “Now, Duck.”

Duck perked up. “Yep, that’s me.”

“You were talking about a nail gun?”

“Yes, there was an...an attack of sorts, on the trees at one of the campgrounds. Nothin’ they can’t survive of course, but I’d still like t’ find out who done it, and maybe get an apology of sorts.”

“I haven’t seen anyone carrying a nail gun around, nor have I heard any talk about a tree attack. If I do, though, I’ll let you know.”

Duck deflated slightly, but he nodded in understanding. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Call me Mama, Duck.”

“Yes ma’am...ma. Ma’ama.”

Mama smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Do you like onion rings, Duck Newton?”

“Just Duck is fine. I do, yeah.”

“Well, Barclay has been trying out this lovely new recipe. Why don’t you try it?”

“I’m on shift, ma’am.”

“I won’t tell.”

Duck offered a small, slightly unsure grin and stepped back. “Thanks for your help. I might try the onion rings on my way out.” With that checked off his list, he only had to make a few more stops before he ran out of people to interview. He stepped out of the doorway and headed down the hall, setting his hat atop his head. Of course, not many people would have seen the hooligan attacking a tree, but someone might have heard about it. Rowdy teenagers tended to brag about their accomplishments after getting away with them, so it wasn’t foolish to think that maybe someone heard--

 _‘Thud_!'

“Fuck--” His hands shot out and grabbed the person who had just ran full speed into him, before they could fall on their rear. “Are you alright?”

 

~~~

 

Indrid wasn’t a very sneaky person. Yes, he had basically gone unnoticed by the town of Kepler for years, but that was because he rarely ever left his winnebago. He was a noticeable person, so trying to go unnoticed was usually hard. It was now, as he snuck into the Amnesty lodge, that he hated that bothersome little fact. The lodge was open, there was no need to sneak, but he kept his head down, his shoulders hunched, and he hoped with all his might that he wouldn’t be bothered.

He just needed to get in and out, to talk to Mama and then go back home. He needed to make sure he had, in fact, been hallucinating when he saw those wings.

He slipped into the doors to the lodge and kept his head tucked low, his wings tucked inside his baggy sweater, and his glasses firmly on his face. Then, he ran. In and out, quickly, easy, just get to the back room and--

“Fuck!”

He ran full force into something solid, and he yelped, ricocheted back, and was then caught by strong hands that wrapped around his upper arms.

“Are you alright?”

No, he wasn’t, he was interrupted on his way to get an important answer! He scowled and looked up at the man he ran into.

And his mouth dropped open.

Green. That was what he saw. Well--He saw other things. A tall man, dressed in varying shades of brown, with a ranger hat crookedly propped on top of hair that matched the colour of his wardrobe. But that was unimportant, that was useless, Indrid saw _green_.

Large wings, spread out behind the man (no doubt having puffed out from the surprise of being ran into), the feathers all a beautiful shade of forest green. It took him a few seconds to realize that his tinted glasses were askew, and he almost slapped himself in the face in his haste to shove them into proper position. Now the wings were a different colour, but Indrid couldn’t get that shade of green out of his head. “You--” 

The ranger cocked his head, a curious smile on his lips. “Yep, me. You alright?” He asked again. 

Indrid stared, mouth agape, eyes wide behind his reflective glasses. He was--This man, he--This man was his-- 

“Oh shit, are you actually hurt?” The man’s expression quickly morphed into one of wide eyed concern when Indrid didn’t respond. 

Indrid’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. His soulmate, he....He felt his loose sweater slip off one shoulder. 

“Shit--” He blurted out, scrambling to tug it back in place before--

"Your _wings_!” Duck Newton exclaimed. Indrid looked up to see the man staring, eyes wide, where his wings had briefly been uncovered. 

“My wings, yes, I need to--” Indrid attempted to slip past Newton, but his movements were mirrored and he was quickly blocked from continuing down the hall. 

“Can I see again?” Duck asked, his hands still gripping onto Indrid’s upper arms. Indrid squirmed under the touch, which Duck noticed, and he promptly let go of the scrawny man. 

Duck stepped back and shoved up the sleeve of his ranger uniform, holding his hand out to show Indrid the tattoo on his right wrist. Indrid reluctantly looked at it, fully prepared to see a splotch of peachy pink, or perhaps an ocean blue. But no, he saw… 

He examined the tattoo, his eyes scanning over it, searching for some misplaced colour that proved the tattoo was a fake. But even with his tinted glasses, he could recognize those familiar hues. Black, white, and startlingly bright red. The colours of his wings. 

His _human_ wings. 

“Can I see yours?!” Duck blurted out, making Indrid flinch back at the sudden outburst. He hadn’t _seen_ that sudden question coming up, which just made him even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t wrap his head, his _seer abilities_ , around this man. In his periphery, he could see those large green wings trembling, ever so slightly flapping with excitement. He tasted sulphur on his tongue, the familiar taste of dread, of failed warnings, of bad futures. 

Even still, he shakily, slow as could be, tugged up the sleeve of his sweater. 

Duck leaned closer, like a child trying to see within the tv screen, peering at things not yet in the shot. 

Indrid swallowed, the fabric of the sweater tickling at his wrist. He tugged once more, and the tattoo was revealed. 

Duck’s wings flapped almost violently, sending gusts of wind through the hallway despite his attempt at a calm, not overly excited expression. The attempt was a failed one, as his eyes were sparkling, his mouth was twitching into a wide smile, and his hands were flapping by his sides. “You’re m’ soulmate then, eh?” 

Indrid was still staring at the man’s forearm, taking in all the details of the ink splotch, all the shades of each colour. There was no doubt about it, Duck Newton was his soulmate. His _human_ soulmate. 

The wings currently hidden under his sweater? Those weren’t his only pair of wings. In his Sylvan form, he had mousy _brown_ wings. How would that translate? Duck Newton’s tattoo only matched Indrid’s human wings, not his Sylvan ones. Did that mean Duck Newton was only _half_ Indrid’s soulmate? Could he never reveal his true self to the man? Would it ruin their connection, snip the red thread that tied their souls together? 

“May I hug you, Mr. Cold?” 

Indrid jerked back into the present moment and looked up at Duck Newton curiously, worriedly. “I suppose so.” 

Duck scooped him up in a bear hug, nearly lifting him off the ground in his excitement. Indrid could hear laughter bubbling up from the man’s chest, and it made his own chest tighten. What if this wasn’t right?

He was set down on the ground and he took a shaky step back, tugging his sleeve back down and rubbing at his clothed wrist anxiously. He opened his mouth to respond the way that his seer abilities told him he would, but he faltered as he realized his future had gone fuzzy again. What was this man doing to him?! How was he making Indrid’s power fail? That wasn’t possible, and this Duck Newton was a human, he shouldn’t have the ability to mess with seers and their future telling.

 

There was so much that could go wrong. So much at stake. So much that he couldn’t foresee. This whole thing, it was...It was too _risky_!

 

“You alright, Mr. Cold?”

 

Indrid was yanked yet again into the present moment. He pursed his lips and shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

 

“Can I hel--”

 

“I’m fine, Duck Newton.” Indrid snapped. He instantly saw Duck’s wings lower, the feathers seeming to droop.

 

“Oh, alright, uh--” Duck frowned, raising a hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “Alright.”

 

Fuck. Yet again, his seer powers left him alone and made him say stupid things, serves him goddamn right. He couldn’t be happy, he couldn’t have a soulmate, this whole thing was a disgusting trick, he _hated it!_

 

He snarled and spun around, his wings shoving their way out of his sweater and slapping through the air, sending a sharp _‘crack’_ through the air. He shoved chairs out of his way, leaving marks on the wood as he clawed past them. The door was slammed open, probably leaving a dent from where the doorknob connected with the wall, but he didn’t _care_.

 

Fuck this. Fuck soulmates, fuck futures, fuck bridges, fuck lies and humans and Sylphs and goddamn _tattoos_.

  


~~~

 

Barclay was in the lobby only seconds after the first _‘crack’_ sounded. Shoulders tense, fingers curled, nails prepared to dig into a threat and yank it backwards. He was always ready for a fight--not because he was a violent person, but because he needed to always be ready to protect the Amnesty lodge. He needed to protect his _family_.

 

He did a quick glance around the lobby for any obvious dangers, then once more for smaller ones, then he looked for victims. Jake Coolice sat at his booth, both hands pressed against his ears, a pained look on his half hidden face. Barclay rushed to his side. He gently tapped the young man on the shoulder, careful to not startle him even more.

 

He waited until Jake slowly lowered his hands before he spoke. “You okay, kid?”

“Mhm. Someone got in a fight with the ranger who came in earlier. They left, really angry.”

“Loud too, eh?”

Jake nodded.

Barclay patted him on the shoulder and took a step back. “I’ll make you a drink once I get this sorted, kiddo.”

Jake nodded and turned to look up at Barclay, his eyes hidden by the ski goggles he had over his face. “Thanks.”

Barclay made a noise of affirmation and glanced around. He instantly locked onto the man from earlier, the forest ranger. Duck Newton. He stood stiffly at the entrance to the hallway, one hand outstretched towards empty air, his expression troubled.

Barclay walked up to him, not lowering his guard. “Hey, you alright?”

Duck’s hand twitched, then pulled back towards himself. “Hm?”

“You okay?” Barclay repeated.

“Yeah. Jus’ fine.” His wings drooped a bit more. “Think my soulmate hates me, but, ha, that’s a’right.” He nodded once, stiffly, and cleared his throat. “I’ll take m’ leave.”

He had only taken three steps before Barclay stepped in front of him. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s what?”

“Your soulmate.”

“Yeah, him.” Duck nodded again and, seemingly in a daze, stepped past Barclay. Barclay allowed it.

Duck went home.

~~~

Indrid lay curled up on the tiny couch in his Winnebago, his wings out in full view, wrapped tightly around him in place of a blanket. He hated soulmates. Everyone except him got one, and it was _stupid_. He was entitled to wallow in self pity, that was his right!

And what would be better than wallowing in self pity? Wallowing in self pity while watching others be happy.

He let out a sharp, unhappy breath, and closed his eyes. One tug at a spider’s thread, one more, and he brought a vision into view.

~~~

Two months in the future, one of multiple difference, yet similar outcomes.

A young woman stood on a table at the Amnesty lodge, her hands moving in smooth, quick flourishes. Flame jumped from one hand and sparked in the other, earning impressed gasps from the small crowd. She twirled on her toes, fingers swirling, flames pouring from her hands like ribbons around her, a constant flow of fire that surrounded her as she spun. Her wings, pinned tight to her back, suddenly shot out and stretched wide, instantly becoming engulfed in flames.

The crowd gasped in horror but the girl kept twirling, her wings cutting through the air and leaving sharp lines of bright orange and red wherever they sliced.

She struck a pose. Her right arm bent, hand high in the air, fingers curled in a flourish. Her left arm was horizontal over her chest, fingers curled and resting beside her right elbow. A pose that she had stolen from a fantasy TV show. Not to toot her own horn, but she had made it look much more graceful than the character of Rumpelstiltskin ever could.

The crowd went wild, and with one flick of her wings, the flames engulfing her feathers was snuffed out. The girl bowed dramatically, laughing as the adrenaline started to wear off. She straightened up in one smooth movement, her gaze skimming over the crowd. She caught sight of someone just now coming down the stairs from the upper floor, and she looked towards them and flashed a smile.

And fell off the table.

She landed face first on the ground with a thud, wings smacking a few people as she went down. She yelped, tears springing to her eyes, nose stinging like a motherfucker, and she could already taste thick blood dripping down the back of her throat. A pair of strong hands picked her up off the ground. She held a hand to her face, blood already filling her palm, but she lowered it to her side so that she could thank whoever helped her to her feet.

She promptly choked, coughed, hacked, and accidentally sprayed a mouthful of blood on the person’s face.

She clapped her sticky hand back over her face, in horror as well as to keep the blood from gushing from her nose. “I’m--” She gagged. “I’m so--Fuck I’m so s--”

The girl laughed, despite the splatter of sticky crimson all over her face and shirt. She raised a hand and wiped her face with her sleeve, then offered a smile. “You can apologize over tea, alright?”

Aubrey just stared, blood dripping from between her fingers

The girl laughed again, the sound soft and lovely, and she stretched her wings wide.

There! The colours that had made her fall off the table, a reverse creamsicle!

She...Oh god. She just spat blood on her soulmate’s face.

The girl glanced behind Aubrey at her fiery red wings, then held her arm out, wrist up. A fiery red splotch of ink was tattooed on her skin. Aubrey tried to show her own wrist, but she coughed on a mouthful of blood, which sent a spray from between her fingers. The girl took her by the sticky hand and led her away from the nervous crowd, on the hunt for some tissues.

“I’m Dani. You can tell me your name later, alright?”

Aubrey nodded gratefully.

 

~~~

Indrid sniffed, his bitter feelings somehow translating to a runny nose and a lump in his throat. Adding to his misery, he tugged another spider’s thread and watched another future.

~~~

 

“It’s so much harder to do our line of work in a small town, why are we here?”

Ned bumped his hip against Boyd’s and grabbed a package of Oreos to toss in the shopping cart. “Because we aren’t in that line of work anymore, babe.” His signature Ned Chicane tone of voice was present as usual, making even the smallest of comments seem dramatic.

Boyd rolled his eyes. “How long is that gonna last?”

“Who knows? For now though, I’m content with Saturday Night Dead and the lovely Cryptonomica.” He swept his arm across the store shelf, dumping a dozen fruit cups packages into the cart.

“For Christ’s sake, Ned! You’re going to bruise the peaches!” Boyd bent over the cart to rearrange the contents, mumbling grocery-based insults at his partner. Ned pretended not to hear it, but he _did_ shove the cart forward.

“Fuck!” Boyd jumped back, hopping on one foot as the other one, the one that Ned had just run over, hung a few inches above the ground. “Ned, you _ass_!”

Ned pushed the cart forward as quick as he could and hopped up on it. He kicked off, which sent him riding down the aisle. “Can’t hear you! Too far away!” He called over his shoulder.

He was only halfway down the aisle when he heard a familiar laugh _far_ too close, and he was promptly tugged off the cart by Boyd’s arms wrapped around his waist. His wings puffed out, smacking Boyd in the face (only half accidentally) as he struggled to get out of his boyfriend’s grasp.

“Murder!” He yelled, thrashing like a fish on a hook.

Boyd laughed, puffing out a warm breath over Ned’s beautiful silver wings. “Oh yeah, big scary murderer here.” He set Ned down, but didn’t let him go before pressing a quick kiss to the back of Ned’s neck.

Ned huffed, his feathers puffed up in embarrassment. “You look more a murderer than me, Goldilocks.”

Boyd chuckled and stretched his golden wings out. “Does that mean you’re my bear?”

“Your bear?”

“Goldilocks and the three bears, y’know?”

Ned stared. “Goldilocks and who?”

“Have you never heard the story?" 

“Apparently not!”

Boyd let out a considering hum and bent down to grab something from a lower shelf. “Alright, well. Good to know that my partner in crime is an uncultured swine.”

Ned only had a split second to splutter indignantly before he was pelted in the face by a high speed bag of marshmallows.

“Boyd 1, Ned 0.” Boyd said with a grin.

Ned glared, but it lacked any real heat. “Quick fooling around.” He chided “Go grab some yogurt.”

“Only if you grab the muffins.” Without waiting for a response, Boyd headed down the aisle, on a mission. 

“Chocolate? Or oatmeal raisin?” Ned called after him.

Boyd raised his middle finger in response.

They were an odd couple, that was for sure. If it weren’t for the tattoos on their right forearms, some might think it was a mistake. Even _with_ the tattoos, some people questioned them. They were both a bit abrasive, they both had loose morals, and they both had something a bit uncommon. They both had _two_ tattoos. 

Ned has silver wings and a golden tattoo on his right forearm. Boyd had golden wings and a silver tattoo.

But they also had a tattoo, a splash of colour, on their _left_ forearm as well as their right.

It was a deep brown, as if someone spilled melted chocolate on their wrists. They hadn’t found their soulmate, that perfect person with chocolate brown wings and two tattoos on their forearm, but they were still looking.

Boyd’s shoes clicked on the tile floor, his hands neatly tucked into his jean pockets, as he headed to the dairy aisle. He was a considerably stylish man, all things considered. Leather jacket, high quality jeans, combat boots with a slight click on the heels. His hair was black and slicked back, and his dark aesthetic only made his golden wings seem to pop even more.

He got quite a bit of attention on the street, no doubt added to by the smooth and confident strut he always possessed.

He raised a hand and ran it through his hair, keeping it perfectly styled without any effort at all. (Ned would disagree, but the time spent in front of a mirror each morning didn’t count as ‘effort’.) His mind wandered as he walked down the dairy aisle. He paused at the yogurt section and reached out, grabbing Ned’s favourite greek yogurt.

Someone else grabbed it too. 

Without wasting a second, he snatched it, yanking it away from whoever also had their hand on it. “Sorry bud, that one’s mine.” He looked up and flashed a smile, all pearly white teeth and handsome dimples. 

“Agree to disagree.” The stranger said. They grabbed the next yogurt on the shelf, then looked at Boyd and smiled. 

Both of them froze at the exact same time.

Boyd’s wings were stiff, the groomed feathers not moving an inch. The stranger was staring at them. 

The stranger’s wings were huge, the feathers a beautiful chocolate brown colour. Boyd couldn’t look away. 

Silence stretched between them. Neither moved. Neither spoke. 

“Boyd! What do you think about mint chocolate muffins?” Ned trotted up to his boyfriend, looking down at a package of muffins in his hands. He stopped beside Boyd and looked up at him. “Boyd?” 

Boyd dropped the yogurt. 

It hit the ground and the thin container cracked, splashing greek yogurt all over their shoes. Boyd snapped out of it and stepped back, as did the stranger. 

Ned cocked an eyebrow, then looked over at the stranger. 

“Mother _fucker_ .” He blurted out. “You’re damn fucking _sexy_.”

 

~~~

 

Duck raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against the Winnebago door. In his hand, he held a bouquet of flowers he had fetched from the general store on his way here. He wasn’t sure what he did to make his soulmate turn tail and run from him, but he was determined to make things right. He wanted to make a good first--Er, second?--impression. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too forward. It wasn’t like he had stalked Mr. Cold to find his address, Duck had been to the trailer park just yesterday, and he wouldn’t have forgotten the address. This wasn’t creepy at all. 

Right? 

Oh. Shit. Yeah, this was probably creepy. Fuck. Duck took a quick step back and turned-- 

The doorknob turned. 

Fuck, too late to run. 

The door hadn’t even been fully opened before Duck thrust the flowers out and started talking. 

“I’m real sorry for scarin’ you back at the lodge, I shouldn’t’ve tried to hug ya so quick after meetin’ you, I just got real excited because you’re my soulmate, and I’ve been kinda worried because my tattoo changes colours sometimes but your wings match what my tattoo looks like most of the time so I got excited and again, I’m real sorry.” He kept his eyes on the bouquet, suddenly a bit too nervous to actually make eye contact with Cold. 

Duck had been worried about his tattoo for quite some time. While usually it was the black, white, and red of Cold’s wings, it sometimes shifted to an odd mousy brown. He had never heard of a tattoo changing colours before (or at least, not so frequently), so he was pleased as a peach to have found his soulmate. Perhaps that had made him act a bit rashly, maybe a bit too forward. 

“I’m real sorry.” He said again. 

Cold didn’t say anything, which made Duck’s stomach twist up anxiously. He loosened his grip on the flowers, realizing suddenly that he had been squeezing the stems far too tight.

One second passed. Then two. Then four. Then ten. 

A quiet voice spoke. 

“Would you like some eggnog?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update this with links to the artist's social media, etc as soon as they get back to me!!


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